


I baked you a cake.

by ShyVioletCat



Series: Feysand Drabbles [6]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-09 21:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20516357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyVioletCat/pseuds/ShyVioletCat
Summary: Rhys bakes a cake.





	I baked you a cake.

Rhys couldn’t sleep. His mind was racing and when he closed his eyes his memories of past assaulted him. Tonight was not a good night for him.

Feyre, thankfully, hadn’t awoken when he left their bed. She still slept deeply wrapped in the warm blankets. Rhys had come downstairs in the fear that his restlessness would wake her, now standing in the kitchen he was unsure of what to do. He let out a heavy sigh.

His mother and sister had been on his mind lately. Rhys found himself thinking about them, mourning them like he hadn’t let himself do in many years.

But, with Feyre pregnant.

Rhys rubbed his face with his hands. Memories of his younger years had entered his mind and would not leave. It left him painfully wishing that his mother was here, that his sister was here, so they could share this joy with him. He knew deep in his heart that they would have loved Feyre, love her as fiercely as the rest of his family did. And right now, the knowledge of this was breaking his heart. Rhys braced his arms on the counter as a sob wracked its way through his body.

A memory came to him. He was young, very young because he hadn’t gone to the Illyrian camp yet. He was in the kitchen with his mother and they were… baking. Baking a cake. His mother hadn’t been much of a baker, but she had known how to make this particular cake and it was her favourite. Rhys had helped, tipping in ingredients, mixing, taking licks of the spoon when she wasn’t looking. It had been so normal, so simple.

Another memory trickled into Rhys’ mind. He was older but he and his mother had been doing the same thing. Baking the same cake. But his mother had been pregnant this time, and after a while Rhys had ushered her into a chair and she had called out directions from where she sat, all the while calling him fussy and annoying. They had laughed, the sound of it echoing through out the House of Wind.

This memory faded into another. His sister had been about 7 and they had all gone to the House of Mist to see his father. His parents had fought loudly and his sister had cried. His parents had tried to shield them from that aspect of their relationship, but sometimes tension ran too high. Rhys had picked up his sister saying that he knew a way to make their mother feel better. They had gone to the kitchen and Rhys had tried to make the cake from memory. It was a disaster. By the time their mother walked in both he and his sister were filthy, the kitchen not faring much better. The cake had tasted awful. Later that night his mother had come into his room, piece of paper in hand. She had carefully written out the recipe, step by step, so much so that it was almost insultingly descriptive. She had said to him it was so he could learn it, use it later, when he needed it.

Rhys to a shuddering breath, now fully in the present. Then he ran to the bookshelf. He had a few cookbooks and in one of them he kept…

Rhys pulled a book from the shelf and hastily flicked through it then tuned it upside down. The paper floated gracefully to the ground and landed at his feet. He never did learn the recipe by heart. He reached down a picked up the paper. The ink had faded with time but he could still read his mother’s delicate hand well enough. With recipe in hand he returned to the kitchen, heart still heavy but lighter than it had been all night.  
  
A while later Rhys heard footsteps descending the stairs. Feyre appeared a few moments later, hair ruffled by sleep and still a little bleary eyed. It was early enough in the morning that the sun hadn’t risen yet. Rhys went to her and pulled Feyre to him as her own arms wrapped around his waist. He kissed the top of her head before pulling back enough to see her face.

“What are you doing up?” He asked.

Feyre yawned, covering her mouth with one hand. “Someone was pushing on my bladder.”

Rhys pulled back a little further so that he could run a hand over Feyre’s stomach, his eyes following the movement of his hand. She had just started to show and Rhys could hardly stop himself from touching the slight bump whenever he had the chance. Rhys heard, rather than saw, Feyre sniff.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“I baked you a cake.”

A hand on his cheek guided his eyes to his mates face.

“You did what?” Feyre said, a little confused smile on her face. “Is it ready?”

Rhys kissed the top of Feyre’s head again as he led her to the table, “Just finished.”

While Feyre got comfortable Rhys went back to the kitchen to retrieve the cake. He placed the cake down then summoned a plate, knife and spoon. He cut Feyre a piece and watched nervously as she took her first bite. She didn’t gag, or cringe or spit it out. Instead she scooped up another generous spoonful and ate it quickly. As she went for her third spoonful she spoke.

“This cake is delicious.” Feyre took her next bite. She didn’t finish before she spoke again, “I think it’s my new favourite.”

Rhys felt tears prick his eyes as he summoned another plate and took a slice for himself. He could feel that Feyre’s entire focus was now on him.

“Why?” She simply asked.

So Rhys told her.


End file.
